Kelsey

​A dear friend's 10 year-old daughter passed away last night. Her name is Kelsey. Kelsey means 'ship's victory.' As one of her loved ones said, 'She has completed her voyage triumphantly.'

I have followed their family's journey over the last 48 hours in a text group of 300+ family members, friends, and those who had never met Kelsey in person but nevertheless felt deeply connected to her radiant spirit. I knew Kelsey before, but not like this. Not like I do now after bearing witness to story after story of parents and children giving testament to her all-embracing heart. Her generous spirit. Kelsey's mother is a builder of vibrant communities. She brought her daughter into contact with so many different people over her short life and made it possible for Kelsey's radiant spirit to touch as many people as can be touched in ten years. As Kelsey lay in a coma, her teachers and classmates and neighbors and spiritual community and cousins sent her voice recordings expressing their love and singing her prayers so that her parents could play them for her. This was a child who had wings even in this world. Who often and sometimes literally put those wings around others and made them feel welcome and cherished. New friends attending camp for the first time who didn't know a soul. Children who had experienced nothing but cruelty from other children at school. Young children who followed her around like ducklings, basking in her kindness. Parents grateful for the way she embraced their children and made them feel loved.

Kelsey's mother requested we honor her in the following ways:

"We love you all and we’re so grateful for the community surrounding us and our sweet girl. The best thing is honestly just prayers for her and (her brother) Parker. Service in her name. And making spaces of joy in her honor. She loved art and baking and cats and being with her brother. Making forts and stuffie ziplines, swimming and chickens. She loved to run and she felt deeply connected to her loved ones, teachers and closest friends. We love you all, as we know she loved you each too. Please don’t be sad for me, I feel the most fortunate to have been given all the time I had with her.  Everyone in my family is on their own emotional journey, and it will look different at different times. Be assured we’ll all be okay in the end. Thank you for enveloping us in all that you have. We are so grateful to you."

Stories are already starting to pour in about the acts of service and spaces of joy being created in Kelsey's name. Her transition has unleashed a tidal wave of love. You are now someone who has been touched by her radiance. Let her light move through you.

Thank you for allowing me to process my own grief and awe in words. Here are a few of the passages from the Baha'i Faith that were shared for Kelsey over the last couple days that I keep returning to. The first was shared by her own mother. I am sharing them with you now for when your own loss is too great:

O bird of the Rose-garden of Fidelity! Be of no cheerless heart; have no wing nor feather broken; sigh not, neither do thou wail, and sit not chilled in a corner. The little girl lamented is in the divine Rose-garden in the highest happiness, delight, cheerfulness and gratification. Why then art thou grieved, sorrowing with a bleeding heart? This is the day of rejoicing and the hour of ecstasy! This is the season of the dead arising from the graves and gathering together! And this is the promised time for the attainment of plenteous grace. Be calm, be strong, be grateful, and become a lamp full of light, that the darkness of sorrows be annihilated, and that the sun of everlasting joy arise from the dawning-place of heard and soul, shining brightly. Upon thee be the Glory of the Most-Glorious!

 

He is God!

O peerless Lord! Praised be Thou for having kindled that light in the glass of the Concourse on high, for having guided that bird of faithfulness to the nest of the Abhá Kingdom. Thou hast joined that precious river to the mighty sea, Thou hast returned that spreading ray of light to the Sun of Truth. Thou hast welcomed that captive of remoteness into the garden of reunion, and led him who longed to look upon Thee to Thy presence in Thy bright place of lights.

That beloved child addresseth thee from the hidden world: 'O thou kind Mother, thank divine Providence that I have been freed from a small and gloomy cage and, like the birds of the meadows, have soared to the divine world -- a world which is spacious, illumined, and ever gay and jubilant. Therefore, lament not, O Mother, and be not grieved; I am not of the lost, nor have I been obliterated and destroyed. I have shaken off the mortal form and have raised my banner in this spiritual world. Following this separation is everlasting companionship. Thou shalt find me in the heaven of the Lord, immersed in an ocean of light.'

There is a Garden of God. Human beings are trees growing therein. The Gardener is Our Father. When He sees a little tree in a place too small for her development, He prepares a suitable and more beautiful place, where she may grow and bear fruit. Then He transplants that little tree. The other trees marvel, saying: ‘This is a lovely little tree. For what reason does the Gardener uproot it?’ “The Divine Gardener, alone, knows the reason.

O my God, Thy Trust hath been returned unto Thee. It behooveth Thy grace and Thy bounty that have compassed Thy dominions on earth and in heaven, to vouchsafe unto Thy newly welcomed one Thy gifts and Thy bestowals, and the fruits of the tree of Thy grace!

O thou beloved maidservant of God, although the loss of a son is indeed heart-breaking and beyond the limits of human endurance, yet one who knoweth and understandeth is assured that the son hath not been lost but, rather, hath stepped from this world into another, and she will find him in the divine realm. That reunion shall be for eternity, while in this world separation is inevitable and bringeth with it a burning grief.

I have, O my Lord, offered up that which Thou hast given Me, that Thy servants may be quickened, and all that dwell on earth be united.

Forest Preschool

In the beginning, success was measured in sunshine. Clear skies. Dry eyes. Dry pants! We found joy in ease. Catching frogs in the pond at the end of summer. Splashing in a pristine ocean on an unseasonably warm October day. Chasing each other through fields of gold, the autumn sun always the alchemist. But as the days and weeks went by, temperatures dropped. and dropped. The sky couldn't seem to remember anything but grey. Winter came and stayed. Relentlessly. When there was fresh snow, we were glad. And when there wasn't (and there usually wasn't), we held on until snack. lunch. home. And by home I mean warm. 

But we—my fellow parent and co-teacher—had made a commitment: three mornings a week, 8:30 - 11:30. Rain or shine. And what choice did we have really? A global pandemic raged on, making the great outdoors our only viable option. We each had a preschooler of our own at home who desperately needed to be with other children—their well-being and development second only to our sanity. Even on the days that were hard, at least they were hard together. Even on the days we couldn't feel our fingers and toes, at least home felt like a gift instead of a prison.

For the six preschoolers in our charge, however, things seemed to take the opposite trajectory. In those initial weeks, they were terrified of the woods. (The trees will fall on me! Its dark in there! What's that sound?! Don't leave me!) They didn't know what to DO with themselves. (What do we play with? Where are the toys?) They tired quickly, cried for their mommies, cried about who was 'first', tripped on every tree root we passed, face planted in mud puddles, and slipped on wet bridges and boulders.  

As time went on, they began to notice things they hadn't noticed before. The space between two rocks just big enough to squeeze into. The dead, low branches of a pine tree perfect for climbing. Sticks that made the perfect fishing poles. Whole worlds under a single rock. They became more curious. Where are the frogs now? Why did that baby seal die? Whose poop IS that? Can you hear plants growing? We noticed too. And wondered about what we noticed. One day at the river we found dozens of round, clear balls of jelly at the water's edge. They had been there before no doubt, but we hadn't noticed. Clear balls of jelly in water are hard to see. But now that we did see them we needed to know. Were they jellyfish? Did they used to have tentacles? Were they alive? Had they ever been alive? 

The more we learned, the more we fell in love with the natural world. The more we loved, the more we needed to know. This is how relationships work, yes? We find someone beautiful. We begin to love them. Loving them makes us curious. We pay closer attention. We ask questions.  We hunger to know them more deeply. The more we know them, the more we love them. Knowing. Loving. Loving. Knowing. They feed each other. They cannot be separated. And they cannot be exhausted. There is always more to know. Always more to love. 

Those mornings in the woods and at the shore with my daughter and her friends over the last year were an exercise in showing up. In being present. In bearing witness to the incredible beauty around us and in the small humans we had the honor of accompanying.  No dishes to do. No phone to scroll. No schedules to shuffle. In a world fixated on doing, this was our opportunity to be. Our reward? Relationships. 

What happens when a child spends extended periods of unstructured time in nature? They become friends. Friends love each other. Friends treat each other with respect. Friends protect each other. If we want future generations to have a home on planet earth, we need the children of today to fall in love with her.  

And what happens when a child is frequently noticed for their kindness, patience, generosity, gentleness, compassion, responsibility as they are going about their everyday lives? They learn to see themselves and the people around them as they truly are: beautiful. And to treat them accordingly.

One of my favorite picture books is Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Peña and Christian Robinson. CJ is on his way to volunteer at a soup kitchen with his nana. He doesn't want to be. He wants to be having fun. He wants to be with his friends. On the way, his nana keeps seeing things he doesn't see. Beautiful, normal, everyday things. And when they get off the bus in a graffiti-tagged neighborhood with crumbling sidewalks and boarded up stores, CJ asks Nana, 'How come its always so dirty over here?' Nana just points to the sky and smiles. 'Sometimes when you're surrounded by dirt, CJ, you're a better witness for what's beautiful.' And when CJ looks up, he sees too: a perfect rainbow arcing over the soup kitchen. 

And their friends waving to them in the window.

 

He sees their friends. 

I'm not sure he had realized before this moment that the eclectic group of regulars waiting in line for a warm meal were his friends. But he realizes it now.

This is what I want for my children. And yours. To recognize how unbelievably gorgeous every human being is. To love them. To be curious. To learn. To make mistakes. To love better. 

To be a friend.  

In a recent message from the Universal House of Justice, they said, "Ultimately, the power to transform the world is effected by love, love originating from the relationship with the divine, love ablaze among members of a community, love extended without restriction to every human being. You are channels for this divine love; let it flow through you to all who cross your path." 

What is nature if not the embodiment of the Divine? The landscape in which we come to know the Unknowable. To connect with the Source of unconditional love so that we may become a channel for a world in desperate need. 

This September, our little forest preschool cooperative is expanding to five mornings a week. I feel so grateful for the opportunity to join hands with a small group of families as we strengthen our relationships to the land, the community, one another, and, ultimately, our True Friend. The One who loves us the way we are meant to love. The One who ties us all together. 

"What she taught me was to feel that you're part of this place. Not a visitor. That's a huge difference. "

-Craig Foster in My Octopus Teacher